


Where No Vet Has Gone Before

by Ellislash (MintSharpie)



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Animal Death, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Nellis, Veterinarian AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSharpie/pseuds/Ellislash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's no easy task to earn the top doc's respect. Will Ellis manage to prove himself as a veterinarian, or is he just not cut out for it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where No Vet Has Gone Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SCRedfield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCRedfield/gifts).



> This was a birthday present to SCRedfield back in 2012. It's very much a designer fic, but it's still one of my favorites. I hope you like Star Trek.

Nobody in Ellis' family could believe that he'd actually made it through veterinary school. Nobody had believed it when he'd been admitted, either, or when he'd passed his science classes before that (let alone with flying colors); yet here he was, on his first day of residency, grinning like he'd won the lottery and prouder than a mother hen.

Nicolas Fields, DVM, looked him over and shook his head with a wry twist to his mouth. He'd been a vet so long that every smidgen of naïveté had been thoroughly crushed out of him; this fresh-faced kid would be jaded soon enough.

"All right, sport," he drawled, crossing his arms authoritatively. "I'll do you a favor and tell you up front: welcome to hell."

Ellis blinked, wide smile faltering slightly. "Whatchu mean? I been through school, it ain't like I've never seen animals die b'fore."

"I'm not going to waste my time explaining," Dr. Fields said coldly. "This is the real world,  _doctor_. Consider yourself warned." He yanked a pair of blue nitrile gloves from a box mounted on the wall and strode briskly from the room, accepting a clipboard offered by one of the nurses as he went.

The newly minted vet's confidence was shaken. He had to psych himself up again, slipping on his crisp new white lab coat and posing before the mirror. Seeing the little patch with his name on it gave him a warm, fluttery feeling, and he marched out of the office reassured. He wouldn't let Dr. Fields get to him.

That first day was a serious humdinger. He handled a couple of routine checkups early on, but it was scarcely ten in the morning when a critical case arrived. A miniature schnauzer with liver problems was spewing blood from both ends, and needed four straight hours of surgery to repair the internal damage. Ellis assisted Dr. Fields, who was elbow deep in unspeakable fluids for most of that time. The senior physician worked like a robot, voice flat as he held out his hand to request scalpels, tweezers, or needles. His younger counterpart spent the time biting his lip, brow furrowed with concern, silently rooting for the little dog on the table.

When the procedure was over and the patient under observation they finally got to eat lunch. Ellis attacked his meatball sub with enthusiasm, drawing a mild scoff from his supervisor.

"So you're still hungry after all that. Good."

The younger man gave him a heavy-lidded glare over his sandwich, chewed furiously for a moment, and swallowed hard to clear his mouth. "What, you afraid blood an' guts'll make me sick? The hell kinda vet d'ya think I am?"

"A new one," Dr. Fields said icily, taking a sip of coffee. "And until you've proven you're not a bigger pussy than Mr. Whiskers in kennel seven, that's exactly how I'll treat you."

Ellis couldn't come up with an answer to that, afraid he'd lose his job if he said what was really on his mind. Instead he continued to glower, put off his food more by Nick's cynicism than the surgery.

 _He wants ta see what I'm made of? Fine_ , the Georgian fumed, forcing himself to continue eating.  _I'll show him. Ain't nobody's friends with Keith Seabrook who can't handle a little gore._

Thus began the quietly adversarial dynamic that Ellis came to associate with his boss. The black-haired surgeon always seemed to look down on him, never quite satisfied that his underling really had what it took to be a vet. Whenever Nick didn't assign the grossest jobs to him Ellis would volunteer, pumping the stomachs of poisoned dogs and driving twenty miles out of town to give a barnful of cows their rectal exams. He'd even stay late on Fridays to clean the equipment, sweating over the autoclave until almost midnight. Dr. Fields knew this, and still his attitude did not change. If anything, it grew worse.

Six months into his residency Ellis was tapped on the shoulder by a slightly frantic nurse, who offered him a clipboard and pitying smile. He nodded his thanks as she scurried away, and began to peruse the thick stack of forms held tight against the plastic. There was a yellow post-it on top, with unmistakably jagged writing scrawled across it.

_Fire @ shelter. 37 en route. Do what you have to._

Underneath was a pile of paper, each sheet a pale blue and headed with the words "PROCEDURE 1702B: EUTHANASIA."

Ellis nearly tore them apart.

The next few hours were as close to hell as he could imagine. Triage was one of the worst experiences of his life; only by blocking himself out and letting his training take over could the distraught veterinarian make the necessary decisions. An Alsatian was too badly burned to recover, and had to be put down on the spot; a pair of angora rabbits were scorched bald but fine; a chihuahua with a broken leg wouldn't stop yapping until it was tranquilized and kenneled to be dealt with later; a boxer whose ribcage was crushed didn't even survive the examination, whimpering out its last breath cradled in Ellis' arms.

He spent all day sorting the wounded, running back and forth with the reek of char filling his throat. Dr. Fields was in surgery, taking the worst cases that might still be saved. The nurses who weren't assisting him helped in the front, calming panicky animals as they arrived and administering chloral hydrate when it became clear that death would be a mercy. Even the secretary was busy, calling to reschedule with pet owners who had appointments that day. Between the yelps, growls, shouts, blood, dirt, and ash, the clinic resembled nothing so much as a war zone.

At eight o'clock that night Ellis collapsed in the lobby, leaning weakly against the wall with ragged breaths panting from his mouth like a dog's. They hadn't yet closed the door, which had been propped open during the rush, and a heavy breeze poured in from the street. It pushed back the air conditioning with a humid warmth, but at least it didn't smell like pus and sterile rubber. He closed his eyes and moaned quietly, but was immediately ashamed by even that small emotional display. A quick glance around reassured him that Dr. Fields hadn't seen.

"Uh, excuse me? Excuse me, please, are you still open?"

Ellis looked up into the worried face of an auburn-haired woman who was leaning through the still-yawning doorway. She carried a small backpack and a large cardboard box, whence came an utterly pathetic mewling sound. The noise jabbed right into the young vet's gut, and he sprang to his feet with new energy.

"We are fer you, ma'am. How c'n I help?"

"Oh god, thank you," she said with obvious relief, lifting the box like an offering. "I found her in the parking lot on my way home from work. She's hurt, but I think she's having kittens!"

Ellis peeked into the crumple of blankets lining the container and was greeted by the protective hiss of a very pregnant cat. Her fur was matted and shedding, a wide laceration had ruined one eye, and both her back legs were broken. Despite all this, her emaciated body heaved with the rhythm of labor – and her lungs were working just fine.

" _Mrraaauuuuuuu_!" she cried, curling her head down between her paws.

"Ah, Lord," Ellis whispered, heart swelling painfully. "Ya done right, Ms...?"

"Redfield," she completed, a brief smile flitting through her concerned hazel eyes. "Kris Redfield."

"Ya done right, Ms. Redfield," he repeated, returning the smile before professionalism kicked in again. "I'll take her inta th' ICU now. You c'n wait here if y'want, but I dunno how long this'll be."

"That's all right, I have my laptop," she answered, relinquishing the heavy box as though it weighed nothing. Once it was in his arms Ellis could see that there was a black cat emblazoned across the woman's purple t-shirt – no wonder she'd stopped to help the stray.

He marched off toward the back, searching for a nurse as he went. By the time he reached the big swinging doors he realized that all but one of the nurses had already gone home; it was just him, Dr. Fields, and the poor bastard who'd gotten stuck watching kennels on the graveyard shift tonight. With a heavy sigh he pushed his way into surgery, set the box down one one teal-upholstered table, and reached for a new set of gloves.

"She's already gone," Nick's wry voice sounded behind him as the older man examined the patient. "You won't be able to save the kits, either. Her pelvis is crushed."

A righteous fury set Ellis' exhausted mind ablaze. His heart roared in his ears and ice-cold determination locked into his chest – he wouldn't lose another. Not today.

"Either help me or git th' fuck out,  _doctor_ ," he hissed, rounding on the older man like a wolf. "I've had it wit'chu. After t'night, I'm findin' someplace else ta work. Somewhere you  _ain't_."

If he'd bothered to look, Ellis would have seen Nick's permanently apathetic demeanor slip. The senior veterinarian blinked in angry surprise; then a slow smirk crept up the corner of his mouth, and he claimed a pair of gloves for himself.

"All right, fireball, let's see what you can do," he whispered under his breath, and prepared a dose of anesthetic.

Two bloody hours later the injured cat had died – but Ellis' emergency C-section meant that her six kittens made it into the world safe and sound. He bundled them up in warm blankets, leaving Nick to deal with their mother's corpse, and carried them out into the lobby where Ms. Redfield was patiently reading something online. She set aside the computer and jumped to her feet as he approached.

"What's the news?"

Ellis knelt right down on the floor and laid out his burden, then held out a bottle of warm milk for his companion to take.

"Looks like yer their mom, now," he said quietly as the young woman's eyes went wide. "They gotta stay here at least fer th' night, butchu c'n pick 'em up in a couple days. 'Less a'course you'd rather leave 'em with us."

Kris sank to the ground, hypnotized by the tiny balls of fur that mewed and crawled about blindly. She accepted the milk with shaking hands, and began nursing the newborns with an expression of utter joy beaming on her face.

The young vet watched with a bittersweet smile, and after a moment fetched another few bottles so he could help. When he returned, Nick was there – cross-legged on the linoleum, chin propped dreamily in his hands with his emerald eyes gone soft. He glanced up as Ellis entered, and waved for the stunned doctor to join him.

"You know, kid, I honestly didn't think you could do it," the surgeon said when his coworker sat down. "I was ready to call it a night... But you just don't quit, do you?"

Ellis didn't have anything to say, given that he'd decided to leave the clinic. It seemed a bit ridiculous that Nick would start complimenting him  _now_ , of all times; but he was pleased nonetheless.

"I can't take them all," Kris said sadly, wiping some milk from one tiny muzzle. "But these two seem to like me!" She indicated two brownish fluffballs in her lap, one yellowy-tan and one darker with interesting grey patches that almost looked blue in the right light.

"Aw, hell," Ellis said warmly as a brindle kitten suckled from his bottle. "I got room fer a couple at my place."

"I guess that leaves the last two with me," Nick said, much to his subordinate's shock. He took one look at Ellis' startled blue eyes, and actually laughed. "What? I'm a cat person."

"Hmm, what shall I name you?" the young woman mused, oblivious to the veterinarians' interaction. She took a quick peek between her chosen pets' legs, and smiled. "Both male... I know! This one is Chekov, and this one is McCoy," she declared, pointing to the lighter kitten first.

"No way, you like Star Trek too?" Ellis asked, astonished for the third time in two minutes. His new friend laughed.

"Live long and prosper!"

"Well then, I guess I gotta go with... Q, an' Tasha," he decided, lifting a tawny female to join the brindle tom he already held.

"Next Generation, huh?" Kris said with a knowing smile.

"You bet! I love th' original, but Picard's my fav'rite, fer damn sure."

"What about you, Doctor? Do you have names for yours?" she asked, nuzzling the newly Christened Chekov.

"Dax and Sisco," Dr. Fields announced, cradling the last two kittens – one tortoiseshell and one black – in his nimble surgeon's hands. "I always preferred Deep Space Nine."

Ellis gave up at that point, and just let his mouth fall open as he gaped. Six months they'd worked together, and only now did he discover that they had anything in common.

"You said they had to stay overnight?" Kris asked, and grinned widely at the nod she received in response. "How about we get delivery and watch Star Trek here? I've got almost every episode of every series on my laptop."

The two vets looked at her, then at each other, and some intangible barrier between them cracked and fell away.

"That sounds  _amazin_ ', ma'am," Ellis said, and the young woman laughed.

"It's just Kris, Doctor."

"Then I guess I'm just Ellis!"

"And you can call me Nick," said their older companion. "Oh, just to be sure – we're  _not_  getting Klingon food for dinner, right?"


End file.
